Unhappy Feet

Shoeless, I was in a predicament. The car park was stony, dark and dirty. Our last minute stop at the funniest restaurant in Mapusa meant that I had a large Kingfisher to drain from my bladder. Our over night bus to Mumbai was taking a scheduled break at some bleak café and someone had half-inched my Birkenstocks.

Barefoot, I hot-coaled precariously from the coach to the shit-house. It was a brick building with a concrete roof. Insects frustrated themselves around the badly wired lights outside and you could smell the bell ends from the bus.

If you’ve ever received looks of disapproval from Indians, they are up there with the world’s best. I received world-beater after world- beater on my raggedy hobble from the shoe’d men who were exiting this ominous piss-hole as I, apprehensively, made my way in.

Turning the corner into the loo, I took a shocking lung full of hot penis. If I was to get through this, it would be with nasal breathing only.  I didn’t want the hot penis on my tongue. My nasal breathing shallowed. My eyes squinted. It was a deep focus. I was going in.

Inside and underfoot: poor aim, poorer plumbing and Indian-car-park-crap had created a warm, wet, gritty mix I hoped to God would not give my feet an STD. I wee’d quickly and efficiently.  There were only minor splash-backs onto the tops of my feet from the greasy, roti-bellied, farter to my left.

I washed and left.  I began my shameful, pissy-footed limp back towards the bus. I hoped that the car park dust would soak up the scented mix of stranger’s urethra from betwixt my toes.

Back on the bus, I got once-more on my hands and knees under the bed with my phone torch. I was hoping, that by some stroke of magic, my shoes would have reappeared and I would not have a repeat of such degradation.

As I was on the filthy floor, a man who had just entered the bus kicked my shoes from his feet.

“What the fuck?” A mix of emotions flooded me. Disbelief. Disgust. Relief. Confusion. The man had no shame at confirming that he’d needed a wee, so had borrowed my shoes temporarily.  That way, he wouldn’t have to walk across the stony car park or wade through unknown’s piss.

Well, thank god!


Thanks for reading.

Pete

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